Shattered by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 2) (9 page)

The weight of Liz’s worry pulled at my shoulders as we treaded the station hallway. Dark murmurings slipped from the bullpen around the corner. Half a dozen detectives circled the white board. Coffee cups littered desktops.

Mitch was holding court.

She plucked an unlit cigarette out of Garret’s mouth and stomped on it midsentence, just as the sound of Liz’s footsteps walking toward our offices announced my presence in the back of the room. All heads turned. Cold, hard stares interspersed with the occasional nod welcomed me back.

I looked around the room, ready to butt heads. One guy in particular would push me to the mat today. Walt Schlichting, an angry, woman-hating cop who just happened to land on my force against my will. But that’s the way the cookie crumbles when a public board makes your department’s personnel decisions. And guess who had an uncle serving on that board?
He’s missing. Good.

I walked up to Mitch. She held the dry erase marker out to me and joined the guys. Should I have taken it from her? Maybe I should have just kept walking back to my office. The lines were blurred for all of us. Tension rushed through the room like a California wildfire.

“Garret was just about to brief the team, Chief.” Mitch’s eyes were trained on the wall behind me.

I nodded to Noah Garret, a newly-assigned detective. He’d put in for a transfer to our department about a year ago. Word on the street was he was running from some marital drama of his own. Mitch nudged him, and he started to talk.

“I was just saying that the murder has the same M.O. as the, the uh…” His voice trailed off, and he looked at my feet.

Forget it. I’m staying put. I will not be run out of my own bullpen.

“The gruesome murder of my husband and his girlfriend?” My voice was a slab of steel.

I would claim the respect of my guys during this murder investigation. Even if it killed me. Nausea threatened to overwhelm me. The tortured souls that were Del and his girlfriend swirled around my brain.

“Yes.” He drew his gaze from my feet to my eyes.

“Well go on, detective. Continue.” I gave him the dry erase marker and sat on the corner of the desk closest to the whiteboard.

Garret straightened his shoulders and spoke again. “Derrick Deter. White male, forty-five years old. His jacket is, was, a mile long. None of the fun stuff, either. He was a first-class perp. Arrested for suspected child molestation in four states. Did some time in Nevada. Made his way to the land of Lincoln and set up shop about eight and a half years ago. Got a job as a school custodian. Under a different name.”

Mitch slipped a fat folder into my hands. Deter’s arrest photos stuck to the inside cover. A summary of his arrests and behavior during his numerous overnights with us told the story of a man who danced around the flames of justice without ever getting burned. Garret’s voice droned on as I skimmed the monster’s history.

We all knew this story. Most of the detectives around the board had worked on a case involving Deter during the past several years. None of them had been able to gather enough evidence to book him, though. Not even me. I knew it in my bones—he was guilty of everything we suspected him of and more. Probably much more. I was glad he was dead. And I kind of liked that he suffered in the end.

What kind of a monster did that make
me
?

“So, whadda we got?” I stood and faced my hostile team. No one spoke. Eyes flitted about in search of a safe place to land. Mitch was still looking slightly past me. I stared at her, shifting my body to coax her into an involuntary glance back at me. It worked.

“So, the M.O. matches.” She lifted her eyes back over my shoulder. Just enough to look like she was respecting me publicly without aligning with me privately. Trying to tell me with her actions what she couldn’t tell me with her words?

Does she think I should stand down from this investigation?

“What, are you a minimalist now?” I cocked my eyebrow and slanted my head in her direction.

A few of the guys snickered. Mitch didn’t answer. I waited. Three seconds. No one spoke. Five seconds. She leaned back and crossed her arms. Ten seconds. I stared at her until she met my gaze. Fifteen seconds.

“Yup. Welcome back, Chief.” She gave me the barest hint of a nod and uncrossed her arms.

“Thanks, Mitch. And thanks to all of you for carrying on in light of all the craziness surrounding me right now. It’s good to be back. Now let’s go catch this creep before he kills again. Garret, pull up what we know so far about the unsub. Nano, get us what you’ve researched on similar crimes in the past ten years here and across the country. Let’s get mapping, team. We’re going to spend the next two hours going through every detail. At the end of our review, I want to see some solid leads on where this killer’s going to strike next. We gotta get ahead of his game.
Now
.”

Heads nodded and the guys broke off in clusters, murmuring together. Mitch was talking with two veteran detectives, her back to me. I stepped over to her and tapped her shoulder blade.

“Let’s go.” I turned and walked toward my office. Would she follow me?

“Bring it to me when you chase it down. I’ll be with the Chief.” Mitch’s voice was clipped. Reluctant footsteps indicated she was with me, at least in body, if not in spirit. Liz’s eyes widened as we passed her desk on our way to my office, single file, in silence.

“Would you like some—”

“Yes, Liz, coffee would be a real life saver. The usual. For both of us, please.” My smile was for Liz alone. One more routine taken back in the fight to recapture my standing in my own station. I waited by the door as Mitch walked stiffly past me into my office, and then closed the door. She folded into one of the club chairs in front of my desk. I sat on the edge of my desk with my arms crossed, staring at her.

“Mitch, you gotta knock off this crap. I get it that your faith in me is maybe waning a little bit after spending time alone with the guys. Maybe it’s getting harder for you to have my back in front of them when they don’t know all the facts. But you gotta choose, girl. You can’t have it both ways. You got my back, or not?”

Her face softened for a second. Then she disappeared into a brooding silence again. Her lips quivered in defiance. “I dunno, Chief. I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like what?” My eyes narrowed to a squint.

“We’ve got three high-profile murders in as many days. That’s more action than this village has
ever
seen. And, two of them were…
Should you
really
be involved in this
?
” Her defiance melted into frustration.

“I know, Mitch. He was my husband. But I can’t just sit this one out. Maybe I should. Maybe a better woman would. But I can’t.” My admission came out in a steady cadence.

She sucked in a belly full of air and let it out in a noisy gush. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that if this were my investigation…”

“But it isn’t.” I cut her off.

“Right. But if I were the Chief of Police, I might not necessarily think it wise for you to be leading the charge on this one.” Her tone was apologetic, but her body remained tense. “I’m sorry, but that’s the way I feel.”

“Well, that’s just great that we’re sharing our feelings here. ‘Cause I got some of my own to share.” My voice sharpened with every word. “There’s only one Chief in this station, Mitch.” I stood up and moved into her personal space, towering above her. “And you ain’t it.”

Dark red clouds moved across her face. Her hands, gripping the slender armrests, were turning white. I moved back two steps to lean on the desk again. The clouds lightened, and her shoulders lowered two inches, but she kept her eyes trained on the wall beyond me.

“You got a problem with that?” I folded my arms, keeping my voice strong and steady.

“Not yet.” She shook her head without relaxing another muscle or meeting my gaze.

“Good.” I wouldn’t be fazed. “’Cause I need you. This place needs you. Heck, this whole village needs you. A heckuva lot more than you need it, that’s for sure. All I ask is that you put your fear and doubt aside—at least until we get this guy. The rest is up to you.”

“I can’t promise you it’ll be like it was before.” Her voice was still and low.

“Mitch! What is up with you?” Tension rocketed through my body. I must’ve missed something. Something
big.

She stared at me, neck reddening. Her right eyelid twitched, and she snapped out of the chair, rifling through her jacket pockets. She pulled out a manila envelope and slammed it on the desk beside me. “There. Now that we’ve cleared the air, what do you make of this? Here’s a full copy of a little special delivery sitting on Liz’s desk this morning.”

“What the heck is this?” I picked up the envelope and pried it open with my fingernails. Two glossy black and white photos slid onto the desktop. Each of them was a photo of one of the crime scenes, possibly right after the victims had been attacked. Definitely post mortem. One look at the lifeless eyes told me that much. I stared at Del’s face, masked in death. Tears sprang from my eyes, and my stomach lurched.

Mitch reached for the photos and turned them over. She pointed at the name of the town, watermarked onto the paper. “You’re seeing this, right?”

The pictures had been printed on the crime photo paper issued only to us and paid for by the taxpayers of Haversport. It was a sacred commodity, and very few people had access to it.

“Yeah, so?” I crossed my arms.

“And you agree with me that these shots had to be taken at the scene, right?” She looked at me.

“Yeah. So, someone did their job, catalogued the crime scene. And…?” I stomped my foot down on the carpet. Picked up my foot, stomped it again.
Thank God for sensible shoes.

“So that’s the problem. We did have a tech—the same tech, in fact, responsible for recording evidence at both scenes.” She folded her fingers, cracked her knuckles, unfolded them. “Only problem is, we checked. Neither of these photos were taken by him or anyone else in our department. They don’t match the ones you took with your cell phone either.”

Her acknowledging I’d been at Del’s crime scene alone lit a dim light. Was that why she was mad at me? I’d put myself in harm’s way once again? I scrunched my brows and looked at her. “But then…”

“Exactly. Who took these shots? And how did they get the paper? And why put them on Liz’s desk? And how did they do that without being seen? While we’re at it, who would’ve known your whereabouts today?” Mitch moved over to the club chair and sank back into it, folding her feet underneath, giving her the appearance of a delicate warrior.

“Why are you asking?” Wariness flowed through the air between us.

“How many people would have had clearance and access to evidence from both crime scenes?” She glanced at me, pulled out her phone, and pressed it on.

“The real question is, how many cops were present at both crime scenes?” I leaned over the chair behind her. The staff report we were after materialized on her tiny screen.

“Five, six maybe? Check this out.” Curiosity softened her voice.

“Good grief. Take a closer look. Read it to me.” I pushed myself away, preparing to hear what I was certain I’d just read. I slumped into my chair behind the desk.

“Garrett. You. Me. Schlichting. Two of the FBI guys, counting Nick.” She was whispering as the gravity of it all sunk in. She waited in silence for me to say what we were both thinking.

“Six of us, all told. So, which one--“

The muscles in her face bunched up as she stared at the tiny screen. Had something new cropped up?

She looked up at me, and blinked. “Corey Richardson not only has a history of assaults, but he works as a lab tech at Mercy Hospital.”

Mitch rocked back on her heels, edging her body ever so slightly away from my desk. I swiveled in my chair, rattled by the loud squeak of the base. Her body stiffened as she inhaled several little breaths.

“Jumpy, huh?”

“Chief… there’s more on Richardson. He’s been charged with assault; the report summary says it was over his wife’s alleged infidelity—with a cop. And, you want to take a stab at his hobby?” She took a step back. Two more and she’d knock into the mahogany credenza lining the wall.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I got nothin’.”

“He’s a world-class amateur weight lifter.” She nodded, as if this pulled the package together with a bow on top.

“’Roid rage? You’re saying Richardson what, found out about the affair, and waited until the night before the divorce was final to take them both out? Why wait? And what possible connection could he have to Deter?” I looked up at the ceiling. “But we can’t just give up on our dirty cop theory, can we? Who else but one of us would have access to these photos?”

Mitch’s stony face gave nothing away.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know. But what else could it mean?” I kept my eyes trained on hers.

“What
does
it mean? Is this the killer, playing with us?” Suspicion lined her face. It didn’t look good on her.

“Well, these shots didn’t take themselves. And they’re, without a doubt, from the crime scenes, but they are for sure not our work. Not officially anyway.” I looked her right in the eye and cocked a leg out.

She stared at me with wide eyes. “Which tells us, what—that one of us took them at the scene right after we murdered a few people, then came down to the station to print them on 5x7 glossy?” Color drained from her face. She looked down at her feet. A slight tremble rolled over her. “So, Garrett is known as somewhat of an amateur photography buff.”

“So are you. But I’m not even going there. How hot is Schlichting for this kind of thing? You know he hates my guts. Ever since I had him written up for ‘conduct unbecoming’ back in the good old days.” I sat on the edge of my desk.

“Before he even started working for you. Yeah. Fun. I was there, remember? But I don’t know, I’m not feeling it. How could it be him? Or
any
of the rest us?” She had backed into the credenza, and stood like a newborn calf in front of it.

She always hated the way I used anything as a chair. How much did she want to straighten the chair in front of my desk? I pushed my own chair out further at an odd angle with my foot.

“Or any of the rest of us
.
We’re going to set this aside for the time being instead of dancing around each other. I don’t have the energy to get into a pointless cat fight—”

She snorted, interrupting me. “Maybe a little Mitch slapping would be more appropriate.”

That was pretty good
.
She was lightening up.

She snapped her head back and forth once. “So, if it isn’t you, and it isn’t me, that leaves four possibilities: Garret, the federal agent, and Nick.”

“You forgot about Schlichting. And it ain’t Nick. I can practically guarantee you it ain’t Nick.” At least, I hoped I could.

She sighed. “
Practically
doesn’t do us much good. We don’t know what we don’t know about Nick.”

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?” Pain stippled through my heart. Was she holding something back?

“I know you two have a history. I know you’ve been through a few wars together. When you worked homicide in Chicago, nobody could beat your solve rates. And I know there’ve been one or two Nick sightings in the past few weeks.” She fidgeted, casting her gaze away from me, picking up a paperweight from my credenza, studying it.

“Yeah, so?” I grabbed a pen off my desk and started clicking the top with my thumb.

“He’s been seen in the company of a particular brunette.” Her eyes stuck like glue to the wall of windows beyond us.

“A certain slender, rich brunette?” My heavy heart deadened.

“Yes.” Mitch drew her eyes away from the window, closer to me.

“More than once?” Rapid heartbeats pounded through my body. White noise rushed my ears.

“Yes.” She straightened up and fidgeted with her phone again.

“So, she’s maybe back in the picture, then.” Exhaustion rolled through me.

“Yes.” She was scrolling through some photos. Her nervous tell. She would scroll through pictures of herself with her husband. Reminders of her life beyond the job.

“But we don’t know what that means.” I looked within myself and found a thousand possibilities. Most impossibly bleak. One or two could be legit.

“Well, I know one thing—he can’t be trusted. Not completely.” She seemed to choose her words with the utmost care. She stopped on one of the pictures. Her husband’s square jaw came into view under her thumb.

“Could mean anything. Could be purely professional.”
Could
be.

“Watch your back, Jo.” She shoved her phone back into her jacket pocket before straightening my office chairs, nodding at me, and leaving me alone.

A flash of pain pulsed through my temples. My stomach was full of sludge. I wanted to sink into my chair, but I was paralyzed.

Nick and Kira?
Again?